She stared. "197" it read, bold, white and in large letters against windows that were unhelpfully tinted cobalt blue. It was mocking. Mocking her. Were you meant to call such a number on a dial-a-phone, hoping that someone would save you in a dire emergency? Who would do that in times such as these. What idiot would risk their own skin to go out into the darkness of day, for the potential death of someone that might just kill you as a thank you or die anyway, regardless of your prescence. Not her.